


In Your Arms

by truekilljoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: During Canon, F/M, Political!Jon, Season 8 compliant, What could have / should have happened off-screen recently, and post 8x03, anti-Jon/Dany, giving them a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 07:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18656083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truekilljoy/pseuds/truekilljoy
Summary: When Jon returns to Winterfell with a new Queen, Sansa questions his allegiances. But after fighting for the North, and facing the army of the dead, Jon's priorities are clear, and he and Sansa may finally find comfort in each other's arms.*Spoilers for 8x03*





	In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> This was a little drable I wrote after ep 8x03 aired because this will probably be the only opportunity left to write some canon-divergent / compliant Jonsa fic before the shows does their own thing (whether that be endgame jon/dany or endgame jon/sansa is anyone's guess at this point).
> 
> I was particularly curious to know what happened at the end of their conversation in 8x01 because it was left ambiguous, and he never answered her question about love. So I've taken it from there and ran with it :P 
> 
> Note; this is unbeta'd and mostly unedited sorry.

 

***

A knock sounded at Lady Stark’s bedchamber door. The distinct three knock pattern told her immediately who it was.

 

“Come in.” she called. She watched Jon enter and read allowed from the note she had just received; "Lord Glover wishes us good fortune, but he's staying in Deepwood Motte with his men."

Jon threw his gloves down on the table in frustration. "House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years. Isn't that what he said."

"I will stand behind Jon Snow, he said." she corrected him. "The king in the North."

"I told you we needed allies."

"You didn't tell me you were going to abandon your crown."

"I never wanted a crown! All I wanted was the protect the north. I brought two armies home with me, two dragons..."  
  


"And a Targaryen Queen." Sansa interrupted.

"Do you think we can beat the army of the dead without her?" Jon scoffed, "I fought them, Sansa, twice. You want to worry about who holds what title, I'm telling you; it doesn't matter! Without her, we don't stand a chance!"

Sansa looked defeated and Jon sighed, "Do you have any faith in me at all?"

"You know I do" Sansa admitted, still holding back her frustration, trying not to give in to her anger.

Jon took a step closer, "She'll be a good queen," He said, as if it would end the disagreement, "for all of us. And she's not her father."

"No, she's much prettier." Jon laughed at this a little, relaxing at Sansa's humour.

“Did you bend the knee to defend the north or because you love her?” As soon as she had said the words, Sansa felt as if she had let something slip - a feeling that she had been holding in tightly, which slipped away through some crack in her facade.

Jon looked genuinely surprised too for a moment before regaining his composure, but his eyes took on a new intensity, and Sansa could almost see the flames from her hearth reflecting back at her from his deep black eyes.

He reached out for her, to rest a comforting hand on her arm.

 

“ _Everything_ I do is for the North.”

 

It sounded rehearsed and forced, like a King giving a speech to his lords and soldiers. She moved toward the table, and his hand fell away. She poured herself some ale from the decanter and took a sip. She couldn’t bare to look at him, she suddenly felt so exposed - gods what had she done? She worked so carefully to maintain her demure posture as “The Lady of Winterfell” and suddenly with Jon she felt like a stupid teenager again, letting her emotions get the better of her judgement. She felt that she was being petty, pouring herself a drink and wilfully ignoring him. So she took another long draught, poured some more, and turn back to Jon, offering him the cup. He took it and drank.

 

“You said ‘no more secrets’, you said ‘we have so many enemies, we need to trust each other.’ … please Jon. You have to be honest with me. Please.”

 

“I _am_ being honest. Everything I do is for the north. Everything!”

 

“Then why did you bend the knee!? How could you?! You knew the Northern lords would never support her! How could you abandon your people!?” Sansa could feel her cheeks getting red, the blood surging through her face. No, she would calm down. Another deep breath. She loosened the collar of her tight black winter dress and sat in her chair. Too aggravated and embarrassed to look a Jon again, she focused her attention on the flames - watching them dance and trying to let the movement calm her.

 

After a few moments of silence, Jon sat back against the table and sighed…

 

“It was Tyron’s idea. Every stupid idea is usually one of his, isn’t it?” Sansa looked up at him at this and he continued.

“It was the only way to make Daenerys listen. She wouldn’t trust ‘The King in The North’, she felt too threatened. But Tyrion thought she might listen to ‘the poor bastard; Jon snow.’ he said, “not everyone is born blessed with such a pretty face … use it.’ He said she has everything a queen could want - more land, titles, armies, and power than anyone in the seven kingdoms - even dragons! but underneath it all, she’s still a young woman, and there’s one thing she doesn’t have….”

 

Jon was looking down throughout his entire recount, studying the stone floor with shame. Sansa took in everything he said and watched the light of the fire light up his face, illuminating the scars there. This was so unlike him. Jon; noble, honest, righteous Jon - who would fight the laws of the realm to do what was right instead of what was expected. Who, she had overheard from her brothers, never even lay with a whore because he respected them too much and only wished to lay with a woman he truly loved. _That_  same man, was now staring into the fire, looking like he wanted to throw himself upon the flames out of guilt. He’d lied to a queen, manipulated a young woman’s heart all to gain the power of her armed forces and dragons.

 

Sansa got up from her seat and approached Jon cautiously. She carefully took the cup from his hands and set it on the table beside him. She stood in front of him and gently touched his chin. He looked up at her finally.

 

“If she finds out, she could kill you.”

 

“It was the only way to save our people.”

 

 _Our_ people...Sansa thought. It sounded nice - ours ... us... together.

 

***

 

Over the next week, battle preparations took up every minute of daylight, and many worked into the night by fire or candlelight. Sansa too, only slept a few hours each night, even when she did get a moment of respite she couldn’t sleep.

The imminent fear of what was coming for them was too unreal and terrifying to fully comprehend. All at once she was scared of this unknown threat, would she die soon? Perhaps. Everybody was preparing to face death in their own way. Jon was as stoic as ever though, and Sansa never got a chance to spend any time with him.

Somehow, the idea that she might _not_ die - that there might be a future, a what-if life ahead of her, was even more frightening. What would happen after all of this if they survived it all? She would lay in bed at night thinking about it. It gave her hope and made her feel miserably hopeless all at once...

Jon was a true Targaryen Prince. He wasn’t her brother at all. What would this mean? Would he keep this a secret from the Dragon Queen? Would he reveal his true parentage? How would Daenerys react? Would he even be allowed to live? And if he _was_ allowed to live, what would it mean for _them_ \- what _could_ it mean? Sansa drifted off to sleep with these tiny specks of hope floating through her mind - thoughts of them ruling together - sitting beside each other in the Great Hall, hosting feasts like her parents used to. The distant dreamscape sound of music, the clanging of beer cups, and laughter, would finally send her to sleep for a few small hours.

 

***

Sitting in the crypts Sansa felt helpless and useless, she could hardly breathe down the in the dank, dark tomb. And all she could think about was her family and if any of them could survive the chaos she could hear overhead.

After exiting the crypts of Winterfell, Sansa saw more destruction and devastation than she could have possibly imagined. Bodies piled up in the courtyards, entire walls of the stone castle in ruins. The carcass of a dragon splayed across the entire scene. All she could think about was Jon. She scanned the faces of the bodies searching for him, but it was impossible, there was too many dead, and in the dark, covered in mud and blood. There was no way she would find him. Panic began to creep up inside her, as the other mortified families began searching the piles, and she could hear the children crying.

 

Then she saw him, clambering over a broken wall and dragon bones - Jon was alive. She felt that her knees might give in, but she ran towards him. As he reached her, he dropped his sword and clung to her with such crazed desperation that for a terrifying second she thought he may have been a white walker.

Sansa had normally felt so safe in Jon’s arms, his embrace was strong, and he always felt warm somehow - even in Winter (a Targaryen trait, she supposed). But now he was cold, freezing cold, and shaking. She could feel his body growing heavier as he let his entire body weight fall towards her. She managed to keep him upright, barely. She could feel him breathing deeply into the furs of her coat by her neck, muffling his cries.

 

“It’s alright” she whispered. “You’re alright.”

 

***

 

The dawn was ablaze with fire and smoke as the living piled up the bodies of the fallen, and the army of the dead, beyond the gates of Winterfell. The giant funeral pyre felt inhuman, but it was the only way. Sansa and Jon personally burnt Theon’s body where he fell, under the watchful eye of the Weirwood tree.

 

***

 

That night the Great Hall was filled with the living. They should have been celebrating their miraculous defeat, and Arya’s heroics - but the mood was far darker. No one was able to muster the energy to be merry, and it would have felt somewhat distasteful. The tone was more like a wake. No one discussed politics, no one gave speeches. Most people sat in silence, drinking and eating. Many men fell asleep where they sat, with ale still in hand - leaning against the cold stone walls. Sansa handed out rations of food, making sure everyone got their share. She had to keep passing by Jon and nudging him slightly, reminding him to eat.

 

She walked past Arya who was sitting lazily in a corner of the room with The Hound. It was so fitting that Arya, the hero of the hour, would still hide in the shadows and befriend a misshapen outcast. She admired that quality in Arya, who somehow had an uncanny ability to read people better than most. Where Sansa had feared The Hound because of his appearance, Arya could drink with him and share jokes.

She stopped by Gilly and Little Sam, giving the boy a slightly larger ration than she should have. They were crowded close to Sam, Gilly rubbing him gently on the back, whilst Little Sam played absent-mindedly at his feet. A pang of envy ran through Sansa. As jaded as she’d become about the world and all its horrors, she had spent so many of her formative years being trained to be a good Lady, a good wife and mother. Now she was the Lady of a great house, but with felt completely alone in her position. Her father had always promised her a 'good match', to a noble lord, and she’d read childhood stories of handsome knights and maidens. She had grown up now, and she knew those stories were just a silly fantasy. But a happy family, one full of love and joy, where people care for each other - she believed that was real, and it was something she still yearned for. She had seen it in her parents, and she saw it now in Sam and Gilly.

 

Jon had disappeared at some point during the night, but she had not looked for him, assuming he was tending to some business with the Queen. Slowly the hall began to empty, though many people chose to huddle together in the warmth of the hall by the fire. Sansa was reminded of an old tale, in which a spell was cast over the kingdom and all the citizens fell asleep immediately where they worked, cursed to sleep until the princess herself awoke. 

 

She headed up to her chambers. If it weren’t for the white of the snow and the faint glow of the funeral pyre still burning, she would not have been able to see her way, it was so dark on these winter nights. Though the Night King was defeated, Winter was still coming. She would still have to deal with the problems of a long and treacherous winter, with little provisions for her people. Though, the battle had taken so many lives, they would probably have more stored supplies than she had original calculated for.

 

Upon opening her door, Sansa got a fright at the ominous white lump of Ghost on the floor by the fire, and the dark sleeping figure of Jon on her bed. At her intake of breath, he woke and rolled over grumbling.

 

“Jon!” she reprimanded, closing and bolting the door behind her, “You scared me.”

 

“uumhhmssrryyy” he murmured, before stealing himself and sitting up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, and rubbing his face in his hands. “Sorry, I was so tired. I just wanted to get away from everyone - I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

 

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. You just frightened me a bit - I guess I’m still a bit on edge, what with the undead rising and all.” She offered him a smile and walked over to the fire, taking the water that had been heating there, and pouring it into her ceramic basin. She found a clean cloth in her chest, and dunked it in the hot water. She approached Jon slowly and sat on the bed beside him.

 

“You’re still covered in mud.” She began wiping away the dirt gently from hands, neck, and face. He looked almost as if he might fall asleep again. When she soaked the cloth in the water again it turned the water dirty brown.

 

“Can I …. do you mind if … I …. stay?” he asked tentatively. Sansa looked up at him, slightly confused, but touched by the genuine look she saw on his face. So exhausted, there was no facade, or political mask of a King. This was just Jon, bare-boned and vulnerable.

 

“What’s the matter with your room?”

 

“It’s not there anymore. That wing of the castle was destroyed.” It was such a ridiculous notion that she couldn’t help smile at their situation.

 

“Of course you can” she replied.

 

“I’ll sleep on the floor by the fire.” He said, as he got down from the bed, and began unlacing his armour. Sansa felt disappointed at that. She didn’t realise until he said it, how desperately she had wanted him to hold her as she slept.

She turned away from him and began untying her own dress.

 

“Shouldn’t you be with your queen?” She asked. She had meant it to sound pragmatic, but it came out tasting of bitterness.

 

“I don’t think she wants to see me.” He said as he clanked his chest plate onto the table. “She knows.” he said, matter of factly, to the fire.

 

“That you lied!?”

 

“No. I told her who I am - my true bloodline.” With this, Sansa stopped undressing and turned back to face him.

 

“You know?!”

 

“Sam told me. How did _you_ know?”

 

“Bran told me.”

 

They both stood for a moment, the soft sounds of the fire and Ghost snoring filling the space between them. Sansa didn’t know what to say, or how to begin. Would this change anything, how did he feel about this? Was he as conflicted as she was? She focused her energy on unlacing her dress, turning away from him again. She tired not to let her voice betray her, but her fingers were shaking.

 

“Are you …okay?" she began tentatively "…What did she say?... What will you do now?”

 

“Nothing. I can’t think about all that right now. I just... I just want to rest.”

He pulled a pillow down from the bed, and began to settle himself by the fire. Sansa folded up her cloak and dress, and walked around to the bed. The cold stones on her bare feet sent goosebumps up her entire body. She enveloped herself in the warm blankets and furs of her bed, watching Jon’s silhouette the whole while. His shoulders were moving sightly and she thought he was so tired he probably could fall asleep right there on the cold ground.

 

“Jon... please don’t fall asleep there. You’re not a wolf.”

For a moment she thought he had already fallen asleep and had not heard her. But then he got up. Her breath jumped in her throat for a moment and she felt her heart begin to race. She immediately turned away from him and pulled the blankets up. The air felt stifling, both cold and hot at once. Could he feel this too or is it only her? Gods, her heart was beating so loudly he must be able to hear it, she thought.

 

She felt the bed move as he sat on the edge and placed the pillow back in place. She felt like her senses were on fire, although she was facing the other way, she felt every movement as he lay down behind her. He slowly lowed his body down, curling up on the opposite side of the bed, on top of the blankets. She was so torn, she had never felt so nervous around him before. If she told him what she wanted, would he be disgusted or would he want it too?

She lay there, staring at the wall, battling with herself internally - unable to move. Suddenly she felt a faint sensation - like a slight tugging on her hair. Jon was gently trailing his fingers through her hair. It was so delicate, as if he didn’t want her to feel it at all.

Sansa tried to take a deep breath, but her whole body was shaking. She mustered up every bit of strength she could find in her body, and turned to face him. He immediately stopped touching her hair and looked ashamed.

She brought up one hand and gently brushed a curl out of his eyes, and traced a scar on his cheek. She then tried to push down the blankets under his body, he pulled them out and over himself until he was in the bed beside her. She could feel his body heat warming up the air between them.

She continued to stroke his face, every touch felt like a lighting bolt coursing through her. Only her fingertips gently whispered over his skin, and through his hair. She watched her own hand, and studied his skin - she couldn't look directly into his eyes, for when she caught sight of them, she felt such deep, dark, intensity and love there that she thought she might drown.

She didn’t know how long she did this for, she lost herself in the rhythm of the motion, until he began to blink heavily, and his eyes slowly closed. She leaned up and tendering left a kiss on his temple, before rolling over and wrapping Jon's arm around herself. They bodies flush against one another, Sansa fell asleep, and slept more soundly than she had in years.


End file.
